Chapter 7 - The Blood on the Stairs
Upstairs in the grand foyer, the mansion had turned into a slaughterhouse.
Julian Vale had brought thirty heavily armed mercenaries, expecting to catch Vincent off guard. He hadn't realized that Vincent Moretti was never more lethal than when he was protecting the people he loved.
Vincent stood at the top of the grand marble staircase, firing his assault rifle with terrifying, military precision.
Beside him, Marco and six elite Moretti enforcers held the high ground. Mercenary after mercenary attempted to push up the stairs, only to be cut down, their bodies tumbling back down onto the blood-stained marble below.
"MORETTI!"
A crazed, desperate voice echoed through the shattered front entrance.
Julian Vale walked into the foyer, wearing a bulletproof vest over his tailored suit, holding a heavy submachine gun. Beside him stood the leader of the Boston militia—a giant, scarred man named O'Connell.
"Give it up, Vincent!" Julian screamed, his eyes wild with greed and panic. "Your gates are destroyed! Your men are dying! Give me my daughter’s inheritance, and I might let you live!"
Vincent stepped out from behind the stone banister at the top of the stairs. His tactical vest was splattered with blood, his face covered in gun smoke, but his eyes were those of an undisputed king.
"Your daughter is a disgraced poisoner, Julian," Vincent’s deep voice boomed across the ruined foyer. "And you are a dead man walking."
"KILL HIM!" Julian shrieked.
O'Connell raised his heavy weapon, but Vincent was faster.
BANG! BANG!
Two high-caliber rounds struck O'Connell cleanly through the chest, throwing his massive body backward onto the marble floor.
The remaining mercenaries panicked. Seeing their leader dead, they began to retreat toward the shattered front doors.
Julian Vale turned to run, but Marco vaulted over the marble banister, dropping fifteen feet onto the foyer floor, tackling Julian violently to the ground.
Marco slammed Julian’s face into the blood-splattered tile, pulling his arms behind his back and snapping cold steel handcuffs around his wrists.
The battle of the Moretti estate was over. It had lasted less than twenty minutes.
Vincent walked slowly down the ruined marble stairs, his boots crunching on broken glass and spent shell casings. He stopped beside the bleeding, sobbing form of Julian Vale.
Vincent leaned down, grabbing Julian by his collar, pulling him up until their faces were inches apart.
"You tried to poison my nine-month-old son," Vincent said, his voice dropping into a quiet, terrifying whisper. "You brought war to my home. You frightened the woman I love."
"Vincent... please..." Julian gasped, his arrogance completely collapsing into pathetic terror. "Think of the business... we can make a deal..."
Vincent looked at Marco. "Take him to the federal authorities. Give them every piece of financial evidence we have on the Vale logistics network, the offshore accounts, and the Boston militia connections. Let Julian and Cassandra spend the rest of their pathetic lives in a federal penitentiary."
May you like
"Understood, Boss," Marco nodded, dragging the ruined businessman out into the snowy night.
Vincent threw down his empty weapon. He wiped a streak of blood from his forehead, turned on his heel, and took the stairs three at a time, sprinting toward his office.
